


in the middle with you, along the seashore

by redrobin1989



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Romance, a bird and a fish may fall in love but where would they make their home, and they decide to buckle in and settle down and live the rest of their lives together, crowley and aziraphale are made mortal as punishment, in the middle along the shore, this is um pretty sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 12:19:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19425859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redrobin1989/pseuds/redrobin1989
Summary: In the aftermath of the should-have-been apocalypse, Heaven and Hell decided that the only fitting punishment for betrayal was for the angel and demon to become what they sought to defend. Crowley and Aziraphale decided there was only one way to handle their newfound mortality, together.





	in the middle with you, along the seashore

After the events of Apocalypse gone wrong, or right depending on your point of view, Heaven and Hell never again speak to Aziraphale and Crowley. The Angel and Demon in question privately sighed in relief, believing they’ve narrowly avoided divine or demonic punishment. But that wasn’t the case at all. Their respective organizations had separately declared them lost causes; Aziraphale too reckless and scheming and Crowley too earnest and a bit of a softie underneath it all. This, the greater powers that be, decided, would be their punishment. They wanted the Earth and so they would have it. And so, every day after the almost-could-have-been Apocalypse, bit by bit, they became a little less ethereal.

It happened piece by piece, so slowly that no one even noticed at first, not even themselves. They had, by this point, given up any pretense of doing their job or even being mortal enemies. The Dastardly Angel and the Kindly Demon simply continued on as they chose, miracling whatever they desired without worrying about forms or appearances or fitting into the molds they’d been stuck in for millennia. For the first time, they felt free to spread their metaphorical wings even as their literal wings became a little less perfect, a little more corporeal with each passing day. Time marched on is always was wont to but for the first time it left little marks on the otherworldy beings, like early morning dew dripping down a curved blade of grass. 

It started with the little things. Crowley’s forked tongue flicked a little less, became less demonically sharp and a little more humanly round. Aziraphale’s almost imperceptible heavenly light dimmed until humans no longer unconsciously shied away from looking directly at him. Crowley’s slit pupils widened until they were simple circles, his bright yellow eyes fading to a warm burnt brown. He hardly even noticed when one day he put down his sunglasses and never put them on again. Aziraphale’s glasses went from being a fashion statement to an necessity, his wrinkles had a weight to them they’d never had before. One day, hundreds of years later, they took a look at one another and realized that they were almost unrecognizable, more closely resembling the humans they risked everything for than the divine creatures, always one step apart from humanity, they had once been. 

It was both a surprise and completely expected, they’d felt a touch less spry than before. Aziraphale slept a little more often these days, Crowley’s back ached if he spent too long hunched over the Bentley. They handled the loss of their divinity about as well as they handled the literal end of the world: they drank heartily and heavily, dismayed when they found it difficult to sober up like they had a century or two ago. Mortality pressed against them like a pressed flower tucked in-between pages: something to be seen and felt for a brief moment only to fade despite attempts to preserve it. Crowley disappeared for a solid year and never spoke of what he did in that time. Aziraphale closed up his shop and sat staring at his collection of books as if they would disappear before his eyes. Death had always been a constant companion but never had it been so close, breathing down their necks. However could they manage?

And yet they did, finding faith, as they always did, in humanity and in each other. These little humans went about their lives every day, risking life or limb every time they stepped outside and still they lived. They watered their flowers, drank their tea, loved, lost, lamented and laughed and one day, went on to the greater reward or their final punishment. And if those simple, tiny, insignificant people could do it then so could they. A long time ago, a brave little boy had decided that humans were worth more than divine power; that leap of faith was what got them into this mess and it would be the only thing to save them now. They grasped hands, warm human hands with no scales or feathers in sight, and swore they would remain together until the end as they have been since the beginning. They made it official with a little ceremony in St James Park and set about for the rest of their lives. 

Aziraphale reopened his shop, forced now to occasionally part with one of his books in order to afford such frivolous luxuries such as food and home repair and toilet paper. His gut expanded a little bit and he was told he needed to _jog_ a bit to keep himself in shape. He slept at night and woke early in the mornings, careful not to disturb his partner, to fix his hair and face to angelic standards always falling a bit short. An accident while cooking left him with a scar on his left thumb that had bled outrageously at the time, scaring the living daylights out of both of them. He looked at it sometimes to remind himself that somethings were permanent even if life was not. Sunrise was his favorite time of day; he sat there with his tea and watched from their small, cramped apartment and thanked God for this beautiful world and his chance to be a part of it with the man he loved.

Crowley did a little bit of everything, from car repair to office work to working at a little corner side floral stand with the occasional scam here and there for old times’ sake. There often wasn’t enough money but he always made sure his angel had his favorite expensive teas and biscuits. He’d formally enjoyed smoking but now found the toxin in his lung suffocating, now very aware of how fragile his human lungs were. Crowley rolled his eyes as his partner kept up with heavenly worship but allowed it; one day he spilled a bit of collected holy water on the former demon. He screamed in imagined agony only to open one eye to see a pale faced former angel and water dripping harmlessly off his uninjured hand. No one said God didn’t love a little irony. He felt too small and too big all at once, feeling properly unrestrained but also painfully limited by mortal circumstances. Sunset was his favorite part of the day, it was a reminder that the sun had almost set on the Earth for good but always left the promise of a new day tomorrow, one day closer to dying but also another day with his angel so that made it alright.

Years past, not quite the same way they did for humans but soon those years wore away at the pair. Aziraphale’s white gold hair became grayer and listless no matter how much he fussed with it. Crowley’s knees creaked painfully when he stood up, always trying and failing to hide the subtle wince from his partner. They never quite forgot that they were once divine but soon it became harder and harder to remember that they had once been anything but people, muddling about in the world. Aziraphale asked one day over the telly when was the last time they had miracled something or pulled out their wings. Crowley wiggled his back against the sofa, having long since lost the familiar weight of wings on his soul. There might have been a sense of loss once upon a time but something equally as important had replaced those once important powers. Instead he asked what his angel would care for dinner that night. 

So they had been there for the beginning and almost end of the world, the world was there for them when their time came. They were lying in bed, old, gray and nothing more magical about them than their memories. Aziraphale woke up from sleep and knew that, for the first time since Eden, he was alone. His demon was peaceful, his newly acquired wrinkles smoothed out, finally free of the pain and suffering that had burdened him the last decade or so. He ran his scarred thumb over his friend, his enemy, his partner in everything’s soft, human skin and kissed his forehead for the last time. He called the authorities to inform them of the death and laid his head on Crowley’s shoulder. He prayed until he was breathless for Crowley’s soul. His love had lost heaven once, the only hope Aziraphale had now was that he would find it again. By the time people arrived to take the body, Aziraphale had given into his love’s final temptation and followed him willingly into the dark. 

It is not the duty of this humble narrator to decide what became of that wily pair. Did they return to their shared heaven or sink back to the depths of hell? Or did they merely settle into a mixed up heaven and hell of their own making, for where else could a demon and angel make a home but somewhere in between? Someone once asked if a bird fell in love with a fish then where would they live? The obvious answer is along the shore, in the middle between land and sea. This is a story of ineffability, of the Apocalypse only not really, of bookshops and motorcars, fishes and birds and maybe even a little bit of love if you look between the lines. This is a story of an Angel who fell a little bit downwards and a Demon who rose a little bit upwards and on the Earth, on the middle ground between heaven and hell, they found their home with each other. 


End file.
